


Nerves

by BecauseFandomsAreBetter



Series: Tumblr Headcanons [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Royal Albert Hall, Tchaikovsky, Teenlock, Tumblr Prompt, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseFandomsAreBetter/pseuds/BecauseFandomsAreBetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely based off this Tumblr prompt: Sherlock is performing his biggest show yet and is very nervous. He’s met with a beaming John and a bouquet of flowers at the end and John tells him how proud he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nerves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> So this is based off one in a list of Johnlock headcannons I saw I tumblr. It's very rough, and kind of just one of those stories you hate every word of but need to get out of your head. It sort of turned into developing Teenlock because I can't control my characters.
> 
> Regardless, I hope I did this headcannon some kind of justice, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Link to post: http://highfunctioninggaybaby.tumblr.com/post/104362497804/some-teenlock-before-you-go-john-and-sherlock)
> 
> Credit to highfunctioninggaybaby on tumblr for making the amazing post that spawned this strange piece of writing.

Sherlock leaned his head back against the cool leather seat of his dad’s car. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous for a show. Being something of a violin prodigy, Sherlock was no stranger to performing in front of large and illustrious crowds. But tonight was different. Tonight he was playing at the Royal Albert Hall in London, the biggest concert he’d been asked to play in all of his sixteen years. When they’d first gotten the call, almost six months ago, he’d embarrassingly almost passed out from disbelief. John had had to smack him on the back of the head just to get him out of his daze.

John. He was another factor in Sherlock’s nerves. John had seen Sherlock perform dozens of times before, but never a full show and never like this. Tonight wasn’t just a huge step forward for Sherlock career-wise, but also- he hoped anyways- romantically. Sherlock had been John’s best friend since the age of four, but John had been Sherlock’s first love for as long as he could remember. And lately he’d been noticing a subtle shift in their relationship, little hints that suggested that John too might want something more out of their friendship. They were small things really, “accidental” touches, lingering glances, even just plain winks that were so bold Sherlock thought he might possibly be imagining them.  
Either way, tonight he hoped that his efforts would come to some fruition. He was playing four pieces tonight, three of which had been requested from his known performance repertoire, and one that he’d chosen himself.

Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in D Minor. He was only playing the second movement, better known as Canzonetta. It was a fairly difficult piece, but not nearly as complex as the other full-length pieces he would be playing, and definitely much shorter.

It was, however, John’s favorite piece.

Sherlock wrung his hands loosely in his lap as they neared the concert hall. He’d planned it so carefully. The Canzonetta would be the last piece of the night, and he was going to pour himself into it. He rarely played it, so he knew that would already catch John’s attention over the other pieces, and he hoped that John would be paying enough attention to hear what he was trying to say, to see exactly who he was playing for. His violin teacher had once said to him “If you love what you’re playing, and you love who you’re playing for, it will shine through to the audience, and even the simplest of pieces will sound like the greatest love song ever composed.”  
As they pulled into the car-park, Sherlock could only hope that her advice would prove to be true.  
                                                                                                                  - I -  
The tech crew leader nodded at Sherlock as he pulled back the curtains. “Okay Mr. Holmes. You can head out.” Sherlock smiled nervously at him and, taking a deep breath, walked out onto the stage.   
                                                                                                                  - I -  
The audience applauded loudly as Sherlock pulled his bow down the strings and held the vibrato on his final note. Smiling widely Sherlock brought his violin down to rest position and bowed deeply at the crowd. When they’d quieted down, the conductor gestured to the orchestra to rise and they took their bows to more applause. Then the conductor took her bow, they all started to clear their chairs and music stands, and then Sherlock was alone on stage. He’d asked to have only a piano accompaniment for this piece, and as the brought the grand piano out on stage, Sherlock took a moment to compose himself.  
Taking some deep breaths - he felt like he’d been doing that a lot lately - he tried to calm his mind. This was it. John was sitting somewhere out there in the darkness, and Sherlock was in some way about to confess his feelings to him. Not to mention thousands of other people. Before his nerves could threaten to overwhelm him, Sherlock turned sideways to look at the pianist. Nodding to him, the older man laid his fingers on the keys and prepared to play. The first strains of Tchaikovsky’s composition played out behind him, and he lifted his violin up to his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he thought of the last eleven years of friendship, the last eleven years of John, brought his bow up to the strings and played.

The first few measures of “Canzonetta” had always brought to mind a feeling of longing to Sherlock. He pulled his bow back all the way to the tip as he trilled rapidly, then repeated the phrase. Thought he didn’t often play Tchaikovsky, preferring baroque era pieces to the composer's more romantic style, he could appreciate skill with which Tchaikovsky had composed his music. For a brief moment in time he forgot about John, forgot about his plans and just focused all his energy into this last piece. He was playing at the Royal Albert Hall, one of the best concert halls in the world, for Christ's sake. Regardless of the outcome of tonight, he would always have this one moment, this feeling when everything faded away and he poured all his emotions and nerves into his love for the music. Into his love for John.  
                                                                                                                  - I -  
Five minutes later the concert was over, and the audience was applauding thunderously. His teacher had been right- his love for John, and therefore for the piece, had obviously been apparent to the audience as they continued to clap for him as he took his final bow and walked off stage. He just hoped the same had been true for John. His parents found him right after the concert, gushing with pride over his performance and, much to his dismay, armed with cameras and copious amounts of hugs and kisses. Even Mycroft has given him a perfunctory nod of approval through his laughter, which from Mycroft was high praise.

He’d eventually left them then to go and change out of his suit, disappointed that John hadn’t been with his family. Still they were driving him home, so Sherlock supposed he’d see him eventually. He frowned however, because he’d been hoping to speak with John privately after the show, to see if he’d gotten the message. When Sherlock had finished changing and John still hadn’t shown up however, he started to get a bit worried. The older boy had never been to the hall before, and Sherlock knew he got lost very easily.

He was just contemplating phoning Mycroft to order out a search party, when there was a knock at the dressing room door. Standing up quickly, Sherlock practically ran over to the open the door, and promptly stumbled over his forgotten chair, landing face first onto the floor with a bang.

“Ow.” he groaned picking himself up with less grace than usual. Rubbing his head where he’d smacked it on the floor, Sherlock opened the door to a vaguely bemused looking John.

“Everything alright?” he asked with genuine concern.

“The chair started it.” Sherlock grumpled in explanation, standing aside to let  his friend in. John however stayed outside with his hands behind his back, but Sherlock was distracted by the warmth that spread through his chest at John’s fond chuckle.

“So...did you enjoy the concert?” Sherlock asked carefully, suddenly as nervous as he had been at the start of the show. John lit up suddenly.

“Oh! Yes, of course I did. It was spectacular That’s why I wasn’t with your parents actually,” he said apologetically, “I went to buy you these.” he pulled a huge bouquet of roses out from behind him and beamed widely up at Sherlock. “It was beautiful Sherlock. And I’m not just saying that because I’m horribly biased, I really mean it. I’m so proud of you!” John said sincerely, his eyes shining up at Sherlock. Sherlock blushed and looked down at the floor as he accepted the flowers.

“Thank you John.” he said softly.

“I especially loved the last piece.” John’s voice was lower, and Sherlock looked back up to find his friend staring up at him with a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes.

“Oh?” Sherlock said, holding his breath.

“It was beautiful, of course, but it felt different from the other pieces. It felt like you were conveying something the audience.”

“What did you hear? What-what do you think I was saying?” Sherlock asked, hardly daring to believe.

“I-” John looked down and seemed to come to a decision.

“John?” Sherlock pushed softly.

“Just...shush for a second, would you? Please?” John said, stepping closer to the taller boy. “Okay.” Sherlock complied. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to speak for much longer anyways, if John kept looking at him like that.

“Good because if you keep talking, I might lose the courage to do this.”

“Do what?”

“I thought we agreed that you weren’t speaking.” John whispered, stepping forward to rise up on his toes and _kiss_ him.  
  


Sherlock was frozen for half the kiss, John ended up hitting Sherlock’s chin more than his lips as a result of Sherlock being too frozen to bend down, their teeth bumped together more than once, and honestly as first kisses go, it was a bit of a mess.

Sherlock would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t been too busy being elated.

                                                                                                                - I -

“It worked.” he whispered happily afterwards, resting forehead against John’s.

“What worked?” John asked amusedly.

“The last piece I- I played that for you. I was hoping you’d hear it and realize that I- what I was trying to say.” Sherlock ducked his head as he interrupted himself abruptly.

“Realized you what?” John asked gently, tilting his head to look Sherlock’s hidden face.

“That I love you.” the brunette whispered in a barely audible voice.

“Well you were right then. It certainly worked, because...I love you too.” Sherlock met John’s eyes in bewildered joy as John grinned up at him.  
  


The second kiss was much better.

  
                                                                                                                - I -

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of making this a series, which would have a one-shot for each of the HC's in the tumblr post.  
> Would anyone be interested in reading them?
> 
> Criticism, etc. are all encouraged!
> 
> ALSO Bonus Scene (Because I liked the actual ending, but I just wanted this in the story somewhere. This is mostly for me tbh)
> 
> “Seriously though. That concert was amazing. I can’t believe you just played at the Royal Albert Hall. You’re bloody sixteen!” Sherlock laughed at John’s incredulous tone as he shut the door being him.  
> “And I can’t believe you bought me a bouquet of roses. How horribly cheesy.” he teased, gesturing at the aforementioned arrangement that John was currently carrying.  
> “Oh what, and confessing to me in a song isn’t?” John teased back.  
> “That’s classical music, it’s different.”  
> “Mmhmm, sure.”  
> “Shut up.”  
> “You’re the one who promised not to speak.”  
> “Please John. You should know by now that I am a notorious liar.”  
> Their laughter echoed through the dark hallways as they left the concert hall, Sherlock’s left hand carrying his violin and the right one gripped firmly in John’s.


End file.
